As I approached home I knew that I had to shed the macho skin. Kelly’d be awake. She’d be worried. In the midst of all of the bravado I’d neglected even to call her to tell her I’d be late.
I was deflated. I felt like a shit. I thought of my unconscious friend on the Hoboken sidewalk. Jesus. I probably should have called an ambulance.
But mostly I thought of Kelly. How I was going to explain this to her.
When I opened the door she was there. Standing in front of me. Arms crossed.
Where the hell have you been? she asked.
Out, I said. I had stuff to do.
I’m glad you believe that.
I looked at her. My angel child. My consolation. I didn’t want to lie to her. No, goddamn it. Whatever the price, with Kelly I’d be honest.
So I told her the story of my night.
She alternately smiled and frowned. She understood, I thought. Sort of.
Then the hard part started.
I talked to Detective Harwood, she said.
Who?
Detective Harwood. He’s investigating.
Jesus. He talked to you?
Yes.
Where? Here.
He came here?
Yes, she said, with a hint of defiance.
What right did he have to come here? What right did he have to talk to you without me here?
I don’t know, she said with a hard curl of the lip. You’re the lawyer, Daddy.
I sat and thought. Tried to place myself in the context of earlier that day. Before the manly thing had caught me in its spell.
He seemed very nice, she said.
Nice?
Yes. He seemed to want to know the truth.
I guess that makes him nice.
Nicer than most.
Right. Okay. What did he want?
I told you. He wanted to know what happened.
What did you tell him?
The truth, Daddy. What do you think I told him?
I felt weak. I felt dizzy. I was having trouble following.
Let’s talk about it tomorrow, I said.
No. I mean yes. Fine. But there’s something we have to talk about now.
What?
He said you wouldn’t give a DNA sample.
Oh God. What business did he have bringing that up with you?
She looked at me with accusing eyes.
It’s insulting, I explained.
Insulting, she said, with a disdainful air.
I thought about a bottle of Scotch. I’d finished off the talisman, but there had to be another one, stashed somewhere in the house.
They’re just doing their job, Daddy.
I know, I said, resigned.
Some macho guy. Brought low by a sixteen-year-old girl.
I sat and thought. Kelly didn’t take her eyes off me. Waiting for a verdict. Damn. Was it really pride, that made me refuse? How sure was I that I’d had nothing to do with it? I’d convinced myself. Consciously. That the memory, the dreamlike state, had been indeed a dream. Or the recollection of a dream. A confused recollection bred by excess substances and guilt and, God help me, perhaps a touch of wishful thinking. But I hadn’t done it. Hadn’t done a thing. And even if I had – that doubt again – so what? I hadn’t killed her. If she’d killed herself, as a result? Was that my responsibility?
Probably, damn it.
But not legally.
Not murder.
I’d rot in goddamn hell. But I wouldn’t go to jail.
Okay, I said. I’ll do it. For God’s sake. I’ll do it.
All right, she said, and became herself again.
She gave me a small sad smile. A hug.
God, how I needed that.